


Sleeping, at last

by theunremarkable



Series: The OxyMoron Series [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Language, Identity Reveal, Irondad, M/M, Minor Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Mid-Credits Scene Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24405046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theunremarkable/pseuds/theunremarkable
Summary: With great power comes great responsibility.  However, with great responsibility comes great sacrifice.Or,The Death of Peter Parker
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Quentin Beck & Peter Parker
Series: The OxyMoron Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762390
Comments: 40
Kudos: 255
Collections: Peter Parker Stories, Spider-Man Public Identity Reveal





	1. The Courage of Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this, I ask that you give this song a listen. Absolutely no words I write, synonyms or even create myself will ever describe my love for this song or the feelings it evokes in me, and I now offer you the chance to experience the same that I do.
> 
> [Saturn, by Sleeping At Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dzNvk80XY9s)
> 
> Now, an introduction to this work. It can be read as a one shot, but I do have plans *but no promises* for a series if you were interested in sticking around. I’ve always had the Death of Peter Parker idea, but once I started writing just nothing was ever enough, so that’s why I decided to base it more around this incredible song. If you do stick around, the series will be written slightly different to this, just a forewarning.

~

Peter Parker loved Saturn, of all that made up the solar system, the most. A large gaseous planet, composed of hydrogen and helium, Richard Parker had told him as he taught Peter his first elements at age four. It was the barest of memories that he had of his father, blurring around the edges as he grew older. What had never faded was the certainty that it was this specific moment that sparked a burning desire in him to learn more, to be more, flaming until he could recite the first thirty elements by his fifth birthday with a song and terrible, wiggley dance. He was rewarded then with a cake in the shape of the Saturn, candied rocks and sugar dust to decorate the rings which had fascinated him so. 

This of course, was incorrect. The circular crystals that adorned Saturn's atmosphere were made of carbonaceous dust and ice, not sugar and edible glitter. The dust he was unsure of how to approach, but the ice, he attempted to recreate it the winters of Queens, with no luck, or perhaps Parker luck. It was never the same, there was an essence that he just didn’t quite perfect. When it came to summer he would stare at the luminous belts circling the planet in the pages of his books instead, vowing to do better next winter. Peter poured over the readings so much that he knew what the shape of the words looked like before he learnt to actually read. But more often than not, he would simply get lost in the colour and the swirls on the pages.

It was the first time he’d used the word beautiful, after asking his father what the word meant. He’d often wondered why Richard said it so often to, and about, his mother, even after he learnt the meaning. Peter didn’t agree that anything on earth could ever be as pretty as the outer regions of Saturn, not even his mother, much to both his parents' quiet but amused chagrin. He could not even blame space for warping his mind of casual beauty, for the rings of Saturn seemed so elegant, compared to the other planets, compared to looking down at the streets of New York. Especially now as he could sail through them from above.

He’d once read that you could fit 764 Earths into the same space as Saturn. Peter wondered how insignificant he would feel being in the immediate presence of the ringed planet if he ever got the chance. Had he ever voiced it to Harley, he would have been reminded that Peter was no different to anything else the universe had created, regardless of size or mass, and he was lucky to even exist, he shouldn’t waste time feeling worthless, not when there was so much else to feel, to experience. He was alive. 

In any case, the books he grew up on would remind him that Saturn was uninhabitable, and so very far away, but even so Peter wondered as he grew older if he ventured there if the planet would cause him far less pain and suffering than Earth ever had. 

Of course, his admiration of space had diminished slightly after that whole _Thanos_ incident. It was poetic Parker Luck, Harley called it, that Peter would find himself on a planet named Titan, Saturn’s largest moon which was thought by humans to be able to harbour life. Just not Peter’s. 

No, Titan had robbed him of living, of time, and as he returned to a world without, of Tony. 

But nevertheless, when he returned to Earth, to New York, to May, it seemed that Saturn had survived, intact and unchanged, as if even the universe realised how special it was and left it untouched in the decimation. It was still bright in the Manhattan skyline, Peter sometimes climbing to the tallest of buildings as if the extra height would close the distance between them. In denial, he would look up as if his enhanced sight was enough to find what he was seeking. When he needed comfort the most, he used Tony’s telescopes to look closer at the rings, but on most nights he was happy to simply search upwards for that guiding light as he swung through the city.

But not tonight. He’d made sure to satiate his need so he would not be distracted, though he was always so easily distracted, this was imperative.

It worked, just long enough for Peter to overcome the Rhino and Doc Oc, both unconscious and hopefully webbed enough to give Peter the time he desperately needed. Not for himself, that was limited he knew, but for the people of New York. For the world.

When the Lizard swung Peter, so tired already, into car after car like a rag doll, he decided to look to the skies. He asked them for strength, after all the stars that illuminated the Earth’s roof were just masses of energy, burning as if they so freely wanted to give it away. Not the type of strength that was the physical exertion he needed to overcome his opponent, though he felt that slipping too. Tonight was about a different strength. Tonight he needed courage, like the courage that they had to keep shining, keep blazing in the cold and endless space **,** to keep burning for those who needed the light to guide them through the night. Peter needed the courage to give himself up, to work through the pain, to save those that he loved.

Though he was much quicker than the average human, Peter was unable to gather what he needed before he was thrown, head first, into the concrete. He slumped, not noticing the Lizard slamming the cars his slim body had previously dented out of the way as his eyes fluttered shut.

Peter came to perhaps only moments later as his rival clawed his way up a building, his arms pinned painfully into his ribs beneath the talons. He groaned as his body stiffened reflexively, the Lizard tightening his grip in response.

“Do we really need to go all the way up, Mr Lizard, sir? I gotta tell you, I don’t love heights,” Peter garbled, too afraid to spit the blood filling his mouth into his mask for fear of choking. It was too early in the night yet to die. Disgusted but determined, he swallowed it down instead, hoping he had put away some of the emotions threatening to unsteady his journey so far.

The Lizard squeezed tighter, causing Peter to splutter on his own liquids he had just ingested. “I want to see your face, I want New York, no, the world, to see your face as I rip your head from your body.”

“Ergh, so gross,” he said, his voice level despite the cold terror coursing through his veins. It was always steady, Peter was not quite sure how, but it was a relief, the ability to tease his opponents cathartic in his most desolate moments.

The Lizard ignored him, continuing to bound up the side of the building, the walls crumbling and falling stories below as he made his way towards the heavens. Maybe Peter would get to Saturn, after all. But the creature reached his desired height, turning to the drones and helicopters circling the buildings, spotlights shining bright into Peter’s mask.

The creature dug his talons into the base of the concrete, wrapping his tail around the statue to balance himself. He held his prize out over the empty space, Peter struggling against the inevitable as he was held vertical. 

“You want a show? YOU WANT A SHOW? I’ll give it to you!” The Lizard snarled, spit spraying from his mouth. 

The height didn’t scare Peter despite his previous words, he was only giving his own performance. He had fallen from far beyond the ionosphere into Tony’s waiting arms with less fear. What had begun to worry him, was his apparent lack of control of the situation as he attempted to free his arms. Whatever was going to happen to him, what was destined, it was already done, he had to keep his family safe from this. His time was ending, but theirs didn’t have to be. It couldn’t. That’s why he was here, after all. Captured in a beast’s arms, dangled over an abyss.

He braced his eyes against the blinding light as his mask was rather gently hooked from his face by what he knew was a razored talon, fluttering silently to the ground below. Though he knew they would adjust quickly, he kept them closed as he sighed, allowing one more moment of innocence. Not for himself, he knew he wasn’t making it out from this, but for May, for his friends. This new found knowledge of his identity would do more damage to them than any of the hits he had taken tonight.

The illusion was shattered, far too soon, by surprise.

“Peter Parker.”

“You should charge, Doc, the entertainment you’re providing,” he complained, glad his voice remained steady as his brain scrambled to get his way out of this situation. “Really shoulda asked consent first, though. I gotta tell you, this is a pretty big no no for me.”

The Lizard ignored him, his slitted eyes darkened and reeling. “So OsCorp meddled with us both? I should have known.”

Peter sighed. Though he usually loved this part, the banter, right now he was so tired, a ticking in his head reminding him of his deadline. “Yeah, but see Curt, I got super powers from it. You just got super ugly.” 

The comment earned Peter a punch to his face. 

Good. Anger precursed mistakes, and with Curt, he usually exploded like a firework, his coherent mind splitting into a thousand different directions and fizzling out moments after, which is when Peter usually made his move. It was straight towards the launch tube of Dr Conners, where if he released the pressure, the remaining fireworks would misfire and Peter would quickly overcome him. Much like the coloured display of lights and explosion, his timing was critical.

One blow wasn’t enough for Dr Connors. The creature, no longer rationally human, punched Peter repeatedly, alternating angles to ensure he struck every inch of his face. Arms still secured to his side, there was nothing he could do but allow his head to lol back and forth with the motion.

Luckily for Peter, it seemed that though he was usually a talented and renowned scientist, in this form he was unable to do two things at once. His grip around Peter’s body loosened slightly as he focused on the beating him instead. His first mistake. Too intent on rearranging Peter’s facial features, he failed to notice the slight wriggling of the body in his grasp. His second mistake.

“Rookie error,” Peter said, whipping his arms up as Curt struck again, stopping the fist inches from his bloodied face. Not without effort, as Curt certainly matched his strength right now with his fatigue.

His arms shook, his whole face straining as they came to a sudden impasse. He sensed the movement of the claws around his torso before they actually released. In response, Peter pushed his weight up on top of the fist as his current life line disappeared. Using the momentum, he vaulted over Connor’s head, landing on the Doctor’s outstretched knees with enough force to buckle them. The Lizard’s grip on the building lessened, his tail too weak to moor, and he tumbled into the air.

Truthfully, Peter hadn’t thought that far ahead, his head ringing, ticking, with the repeated impacts, and he too flailed down into the empty space. Prioritising what was left of his webbing, and aware that there was a ledge coming up, he fell, faster than Curt, his body dangerously closing the distance between them as the jut of the building appeared. He stuck his arm out, had he seen behind him in an identical movement to the Lizard, just in time to grab on.

Peter, to the railing, and the Lizard to Peter.

He screamed, raw and animalistic as the full weight of his nemesis pulled at his stomach, held from the ground by the claws anchored into Peter’s soft flesh. The nails pierced right through, meeting each other in the middle of what used to be a torso.

Aware what the pain would mean, Peter didn’t trust himself to look down. Instead he looked up to the skies, for the courage he failed to grasp minutes before. He swung his other arm up to better grip onto the ledge, though still by his fingertips. He inhaled once, full of night air he was sure contained bravery, before lifting his legs to stomp on the Lizards head. Each kick was accompanied by a scream from both figures, but the talons penetrating him stayed firm. He heard spluttering below him, the blood of his stomach dripping into the face of the monster.

Using his heel, he gave one final effort to kick at the soft skin under the neck.

Release, both of the claws within him, and of the pain.

Quickly replaced by a new pain.

He ignored the doctor’s roars into the abyss that would become his final moments in life. Instead with what he hoped wasn’t the last of his strength, he pulled himself onto the building. Peter rolled once to land on his back, as he once again looked to the stars. It seemed he was successful, both at defeating his adversary and robbing the universe’s own fireflies of their energy and courage. Peter’s world went black, not even the shine of scattered moon dust piercing through.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I’ve asked you to read, and listen, I now ask you to write. Comments, if you please! Although the story is written, it’s unedited and I am open and inspired by what you, the reader has to say about it. Plot, ideas, writing style, mistakes, you name it! Go forth!


	2. Light carries on, even after death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have calcium in our bones, iron in our veins, carbon in our souls, and nitrogen in our brains. 93 percent stardust, with souls made of flames, we are all just stars that have people names - Nikita Gill.

~

But death, much like his life, was not that kind to Peter Parker. Had he been able to see himself through the eyes of the world watching, he might have realised how small he looked on the roof. Insignificant, was the word Peter would have used, perhaps understanding the feeling of gazing up Saturn more than ever in this moment, Harley quickly rebutting once again that he was not. The world would have agreed, as they waited with collective bated breath for a sign that their beloved vigilante was alive. 

He could feel the wet, the cold, of the ground around him as he lay still, could hear the helicopters whirring, the noise almost soothing, enough to drown out the stench of his own blood, somehow more metallic than ever. He attempted to settle his breathing to the hum in the sky but it was too shallow, the efforts causing himself to whine in response. That noise was not calming at all. For the first time in what seemed like his entire life, Peter gave up, instead not bothering to breath until his body forced him to, gasping in just enough to last him until the next fire burned in his chest.

It was not long before a new noise distracted Peter from his rhythm.

“Pete?”

At the newcomer’s voice, Peter stirred, the motion sparking electric burns where he was sure his stomach used to be.

“Come on buddy, you gotta get up.”

The voice was warm, lulling him to do the exact opposite, to just let it wash over him as he drifted out of consciousness, but something about it niggled at Peter. The familiarity was wrong, distorted, as if it didn’t belong there. It belonged to a different time, place, and for Peter, a different life **.** He willed his eyes open to check for himself.

“Oh hey, I know you.” Peter mumbled, his eyes fluttering, phosphenes in his eyes.

For highlighted in the skies was Tony Stark. He smiled down sadly as Peter blinked in confusion, unsure whether to call him a ghost or an angel. 

Deciding that he was dead, Peter allowed himself to relax back into the concrete. “Five more minutes, Mister Stark.” 

Surely he could rest now.

“The luxury of time is not afforded to those such as us.”

Peter frowned. Were there time limits in the great beyond?

“I’m so tired,” he sighed truthfully, not wanting to admit that he had been defeated, that he had failed. That he'd given up, right here on the lone rooftop in an nondescript building. The admission was not so harmful to himself, but the thought of confirming to Tony, well...

“I know kiddo.” 

“Why am I still so tired if I’m dead?”

“You’re not dead.”

That… Made more sense. When he blipped, there was no afterlife, no loved ones to greet him. There was only a blank nothingness, until he was slammed back into his body on the dusty planet, surrounded by strangers. Tony offered no further explanation, so when he didn’t continue, Peter asked the question tickling his mind. “So am I like, hallucinating, from blood loss or a concussion or something?”

“Nope.”

Peter frowned.

“That good with you?”

“I guess.” He shrugged, a small motion. “I mean, I’ve had weirder.” But of course. 

“In that case, up you get. You can’t die on your back. You die on your knees or your feet, like a man. A real man. A real hero.” Peter breathed deeply to Tony’s words, piercing him through to the bones much like the Lizard’s claws. “C’mon Pete,” he encouraged further, “I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could do it.”

Peter exhaled, gazing past Tony to once again drink in the sight of the night. It seemed he had not stolen their energy nor courage, perhaps only a little, the glow slightly dimmed. He frowned again at the blanket in the sky, the glitter twinkling at him, winking, as if they had finished their fun, and were finally ready to assist him tonight.

Peter turned his exhaled into a groan as he pushed his selfishness out of his head, instead lifting his upper body up, all the way forward until he tipped himself on to the balls of his feet. A moment passed with heavy breathing, a wet sound in contrast to the previously whine, before Peter rocked forward to push himself slowly upright. Once nearly as tall as Tony Stark, he aimed his web shooter at his sliced torso, wrapping a thick layer around him several times in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. He kept his eyes firmly from the mess, he knew from previous experience that the image could unravel him.

“You look like shit,” Tony grimaced down his nose at the boy before looking away.

Peter chuckled, wet, bubbles creeping out the corner of his mouth. He wiped them away, the red mixing in his his suit. “I’ve had worse.” 

Tony paled as he continued looking out to the city’s skyline. Peter drunk in the sight of him, as the man thought through the scene he had not seen, almost a year now. Tony's expression, the wonderment of the moments of his life he had taken hiatus from, was so overpowering that Peter felt himself elated from it, distracted. “How’s Morgan?”

Peter’s eyes prickled at the normality of the question. “She’s amazing, Mister Stark. She’s so much like you, but has the fire of Pepper. It’s slightly terrifying to be honest, knowing she’s a mixture of the two of you. She’s a real force.”

“And Pep?”

“She’s okay. Truly, sir.”

“And you?” Tony’s head turned back to face him.

Peter could not provide that answer.

“What’s your healing rate these days?”

Peter remained silent, partly as the questions was idiotic, mostly as he couldn’t bring himself to concern even this version of Tony.

“I thought so,” Tony sighed. “You seem incredibly calm about this.”

Peter simply looked to the side, away from Tony’s pressing gaze, to where the man’s eyes had traced moments earlier. Where was the courage he had plucked only moments ago now that Tony had spoken? Tony continued, “The prospect of death. Is it because you’ve already died once, or did you know you would be here tonight?”

Peter’s lips pressed firmly together in affirmation. 

“What’s it like then? Knowing? I had barely a moment of it, for that I am grateful.”

The knowledge, the secret he had for the past week, that Peter had shut, no locked, away, clawed at his chest momentarily until he finally allowed it to break free. “It was like someone was watching over me, all the time, whispering to me. I could never tell what they were saying, but even so, I just… Knew. More than that, I understood. That it was okay, it was all going to be okay. It's not what I usually think about death, when other people die. With them, I was, I am, so scared. But I’m not afraid about myself dying. It just feels warm and gentle, almost comforting, like I’m a child and I’m being tucked into bed. And even if I was scared, I don’t think I could fight it. It's so strong, and just keeps getting stronger and stronger. If it wasn't so comfortable right now I'd be overwhelmed. But I'm not. I'm just... okay.”

Tony nodded, his face drawn, as he studied Peter. His eyes danced with the words Peter knew he wanted to say, but never would.

“Did you get everything sorted? Do your homework, clean your room, write your letters?”

At this Peter chuckled once again, not bothering to check his mouth for expulsions. “Yeah.”

“Good, good. I’m proud of you, kid,” he said, gripping Peter’s shoulder. A pause. “God, I really fucked up, didn’t I.” 

Peter looked at him, slightly startled.

“Morgan, growing up without a father. You, training you up to welcome death with open arms as you race full throttle towards him.”

Peter had wondered himself why he was not more perturbed at the notion, his mind always trailing back to a quote Ben would lull him to sleep with. '93% stardust, with souls made of flames, we are all just stars that have people names.' Though he had died previously, existence wiped out with a snap, and he hadn’t taken his place in the universe, Peter believed this time he would end up in the sky, closer to Saturn, perhaps a diamond in the dark to draw the people’s attention to his favourite planet.

And logically, it didn’t matter what Peter thought or believed. This is what needed to happen to the Earth to keep spinning, for life to continue. And when he died, the stars would had sparkle until the early morning and the sun still would rise on New York’s Sunday. Peter could guess and pray all he wanted, but life would always carry on, no matter how much death there was. That much was shown, after the decimation that Thanos caused. The half of the living, they healed, they continued, all spurred by love.

Instead, he used the time to tell Tony with a lopsided grin, “Harley turned out alright.”

Tony squished his cheeks to his eyes, maybe he was hoping for a glee-less smile. “Not after this.”

“Not after this.” Peter agreed, swallowing down his biggest regret.

They stared at each other a moment more, before Peter nodded decisively, forcing himself to stand a little straighter.

“So, what’s the go here? How much time do you have?”

Peter shook his head.

“Talk to me, buddy. Did you think this through?”

“You remember Norman Osborn? He had a son, Harry, he died from the snap.”

Tony's eyes flashed. "What do you mean? Bruce brought everyone back. That's why we did it, that was the whole point."

"It was a nice theory."

"No," Tony cut him off sharply. "We planned it, we thought it through, and it worked. Are you telling me it didn't work?"

"It did. It worked. But you can't put scientific method to magic, Mister Stark. When people were brought back it didn't work out for everyone. Not those who were flying or driving, or already dying. A lot of people still died."

Tony thought this through for a moment. "Dammit," he swore quietly.

"The world is still grateful," Peter stammered, hurriedly. In his mind, the ticking, it reminded him he didn't have time for this. "They are, they know, it's just... Even with magic, sometimes life doesn't have a fairy tale ending for everyone."

Tony rubbed at his eyebrows back and forth before he looked up. “Wait, Harry? Your friend Harry, from grade school?”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed at the addition to the long list of those he’d lost. The list he was about to join.

“Aw geez, kid. Do you ever get a break? I’m sorry.”

Peter shrugged off the grief, untouched as he felt nothing. It was a wasted emotion right now, it didn’t matter, not to him, not now. Peter’s death could give birth to both life and time. So he told him, “It doesn’t matter now. But Norman found out what you did, how you went back in time, and were able to bring back objects through time, bring people. How Thanos and other beings were able to survive in a different timeline, unharmed,” Peter breathed into the cool air.

“Ah.”

Peter ignored him, unable to stop. He’d been holding the knowledge for too long, a secret so large it burned in his chest, Peter surprised that this hadn’t killed him first. “Harley actually found the energy pulse, you’d be so impressed, Mister Stark He figured it all out, his mind is really quite something else, more than you or I could imagine. Harley was the one who told me that Norman worked it out, or thought he did, how to emulate your time machine. I’m not sure if he wanted to bring Harry forward, or go back and stop his death, but either way it’s not going to work. The actuators are wrong, they’re using unstable elements to power it, but it was falling apart from the start. And it’s not just ‘turn into a baby’ kind of wrong. It has the potential to collapse both time and space, create a wormhole, a dark hole, I don’t know and I don’t care. All I know is that it will break the world. I tried, I tried to tell him but he wouldn’t listen and he’s going ahead, tonight. Right now. He tried to stop me, The Doc, Lizard, Rhino, he got all his friends involved to keep me busy while he destroys the universe. But I got through them all, I did it sir, and now it’s just Norman and the machine.”

“Why didn’t you work with him, to figure it out? If he brought Harry back, you could bring back all the other people who were wronged. Hell, you could bring back anyone.”

The thought, finally voiced, tugged at Peter’s heart. “I know.” 

Tony took a step forward, speaking softly. “Your mother, your father." Another step. "Ben. Harry.” Tony paused both his voice and movement. “Me.”

Peter shook his head. “But it’s not right.” He breathed in, hoping it would resolve his will, which was crumbling the longer he talked to Tony. "We might be more than human, but we don't get to play God."

Tony shook his head with a gentle breath of air. “Alight then. So what’s your play? You’re running out of blood, webs and time. A nasty headache, a massive skyscraper and two douches between you and the end of time as we know it. Again. So hit me with your best movie analogy.”

Peter couldn’t find the energy to chuckle, though he wished he hadn’t wasted them before. “No references this time. I just need to do whatever it takes to get it done.”

Tony gripped his shoulder tight again, though Peter didn’t flinch. “Did I mention I’m proud of you?” Peter nodded. “Buck up, Underoos. Where’s your mask?"

“Gone.”

“Kid,” Tony groaned.

“It’s too late, anyway,” Peter gestured to the news crew circling around them.

Tony’s face fell, insistent and urgent. “It’s more than that, more than a secret identity for you or your aunt. Your mask is the only thing between your brain and a bullet. More so, where’s your iron suit?”

“I couldn’t- After Thanos, I just... I could barely even look at it. I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Don’t you ever think that. Peter Parker, you are undoubtedly the strongest man I have ever known.”

Peter couldn’t accept the praise, not when he was this close to failing, when he had so much guilt. He moved closer to the ledge, staring below where his mask was sure to have fluttered down in the reveal. His eyes flickered over a lump, the graveyard of Curt Connor, as in the silence the ticking in his head grew louder and louder.

“Who’s the second?” Peter asked quietly.

“What?”

“I only mentioned that it was Norman left. Who’s the second?” He repeated louder this time, still not facing Tony behind him.

He felt the eyes of the man behind him, could feel the air as Tony threw his hands up as if to motion ‘What can I say?’.

Though he already felt the warm embrace of death, a cool whisper sliced through him as suddenly-

Silence.

And then an explosion rocketed past his ear as he jerked sideways to narrowly avoid the bullet only a second ago aimed at his head. He lunged forward, as his hand simultaneously whipped out to grasp the wrist connected. He followed the arm down to gaze at the second ghost of his past in one short night.

“Why didn't you kill me when I was down, Beck?”

Instead of Tony’s warm and dark eyes, the crazed blue of Quentin Beck stared back at him, supported by a manic grin. “Because that would be no fun. I’ve missed you, Peter. I haven’t had fun like you since you left me all alone in England.”

Remembering the Lizard’s mistakes, he tightened his grip on the arm as he spoke. Peter played back, though Beck already knew he was scared, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing nor hearing it. “I gotta tell you, I didn’t really have fun in Europe. If I’m being really honest, it was the worst.”

“Well, now’s my chance to make it up to you.”

“What are you even going to do? I took back control of E.D.I.T.H. I can't give you that, it’s not even mine anymore, Fury is now in charge.”

“Your love for Tony is still based on lies, Peter,” Quentin laughed freely. "Do you really think his whole company, his whole legacy, was driven by him and himself only? He did nothing for the world. Nothing. And everything he had, he was handed freely by those who admired a name he so happened to carry. A name he was not worthy of. You think I need you, or him, for E.D.I.T.H, or anything thing else? I created, I built that technology, Peter. And I did it again. And again. And I will keep doing it until you are dead and I have my rightful place in this world.”

Peter dropped his grip on Quentin’s hand, his eyes widening as drones behind him decloaked, forming a small army. Small, but more than enough for him to handle.

Peter barely had time to bring his arms up to his face, his forearms creating some sort of a shield as the bullets ripped into his body. He jerked with the force, bullets both bouncing off and piercing his suit, causing him to stumble back, to the edge of the rooftop.

With one more step, Peter fell backwards off the roof.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I ask too much from you. First, I ask for your words. They warm my soul and my bones, and it’s winter for me.  
> Secondly, I’ve very sure I’ve heard/read/watched every cover/art/video but if you yourself have a favourite please, please let me know.


	3. Explain the Infinite

Peter let out a web as he was gravitated towards the the Earth’s core, his shoulder jolting as the fluid caught a building above him. He twisted regardless of the pain, avoiding the next spray of bullets as he escaped the onslaught.

An explosion rang out, too close, so close that Peter’s suit caught fire. He wondered for a moment if this is what stars felt like, burning, releasing their energy. Beautiful, brave, they were not words he would use for this feeling. The flames licked upwards, dangerously close to his face. With no choice, he aimed his web shooters at a fire hydrant in the distance, ripping it out of place, causing a spray of water to shoot into the air. He angled his swing to pass through it, successfully putting out the flames and disabling several drones in the one motion.

Peter baltered for a few moments more before he fell to the ground, further from Oscorp than he wanted to be right now. A damaged drone lay near his feet, and he scrambled forward to pick it up as he heard the intoning of a second wave. 

His head frantic, he whirled, he spotted a building in construction. One arm clutching at the drone, the other only pretending to cover his head, Peter ran. He paused while he weighed up his remaining fluid and strength, swearing slightly as he webbed the two corners of the construction, pulling the building down on top of him. Peter willed himself to breathe through the panic, the memory of another time. A time he survived, he reminded himself. A different time.

“Suicide, kid, huh? Wouldn’t have picked you for the type.” Beck’s voice was deafening as it rang out into the night.

“Keep talking,” Peter muttered as he wedged himself between steepled slabs of concrete, now his protector from the bullets that pummelled the wreckage around him. He picked up the fallen drone, removing an access panel as he did so. Beck was smart, but Peter just prayed he was smarter.

“Or are you hiding? New York, do you see this?” Beck called, the faint sound of helicopters alerting Peter to the fact that for them, the show was ongoing. “Your favourite superhero, a coward, a child who won’t even come out and face me! They see you for who you are, Peter. A scared little boy, who is nothing, _nothing_ , without the rest of the Avengers to protect him. To die for him, like Tony Stark did. 

The words cut through Peter, chilling his heart, but his fingers flew as if someone else was controlling them.

“And now you die alone.” 

More shots attempted to penetrate the concrete rubble. Peter slid lower, his hands scrambling at the technology in front of him. He’d done it once, he could do it again, if he could just get his composure. He closed his eyes, though it didn’t change the darkness in his hideout. The lack of light, the wreckage both his saviour and his eclipse, kept tugging at his mind, suffocating him, but Peter couldn’t allow that. He opened them, and prayed once more to the stars he couldn’t see.

Unlike Connors, Beck had made his first mistake long before facing Peter tonight. He used the same interface, same coding and blueprints to create and program the drones. One that Peter was fortunately familiar with, had taken apart and put together multiple times since his return from Europe.

But no, perhaps not a mistake, Peter discovered as his fingers flew. Only a portion of the drones could be disabled so easily, the portion currently aimed at him. That was enough, for now. Peter did what he could in his limited space and technology. He breathed in deeply, quickly choking on the dust and debris, and prepared to once again tackle Quentin. He was only a man, Peter reminded himself, without his drones. A man with a brilliant mind, but Peter had faced those before. And once he faced this one, there was only one left until he faced his destiny. 

Peter exploded out of his sanctuary.

Into a calm night.

Beck was nowhere to be seen, to be heard, and this terrified Peter more than anything the journey had so far. He looked around the bare city landscape as the fear gripped his heart harder than the Lizard had, cooler than the breeze or the whisper of death as the bullet traced his ear.

And then he saw them.

Two figures, atop a tall roof, one dangling not unlike Peter himself earlier, though even from this angle he could see that the prize dangled was being held by its neck and not his torso. He launched a web, pointlessly. He didn’t even have Karen to alert him that his formula had run out. 

He was well and truly, alone. 

As he looked up, Peter shivered with the confirmation that he was not alone. Wasting no time, he threw himself up the opposite building, scrambling, until he leveled them in a crouch. 

“You’ve already tried this on me Beck. I know it’s not real, I know he’s not here. You can’t trick me anymore!”

“Are you really willing to take that chance, Peter?” 

The pair stood in a standoff, Harley dangling over the edge, his face growing redder and redder as his struggling legs kicked weakly. He wasn’t here, Peter had made sure of it, made sure he didn’t know, he was safe-

“No,” Peter decided firmly, not looking into Harley’s eyes, ignoring the rasps and shuddering.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter for you anyway. It’s not like you will be around for the funeral,” Beck grinned, slow at first until the motion slid higher and higher as he jostled his casualty.

“Don’t do it, Pete,” Harley rasped.

And Quentin let go.

Peter hesitated momentarily, but the phrase, the denial, was so Harley, so _horribly Harley_ , that he launched off his own building, arms outstretched. He couldn’t risk it, not Harley, though Peter himself would be dead, he couldn’t let-

The ground met Peter with a sickening crunch.

He groaned, rolling over onto his back to the sound of Beck’s laughter. He pushed to his feet once more as Mysterio began to speak.

“Oh Peter, you really are a sucker. I thought Europe was meant to be an educational tip, but you didn’t learn anything. You’re as stupid as you ever were, falling for that trick again. Look where you happened to land. Gotta say though, you really stuck the landing.”

His eyes blurry, Peter looked down to see the gravel in between wooden ruts, held together by two small metal rails. His brain slow to catch up from the repeated beatings he’d taken today, it wasn’t until a horn blasted that Peter realised where he was standing.

A track.

And for the second time in his finite life, Peter Parker got hit by a train. 

But this time, he was ready. As ready as you could ever be to be hit by a passenger carrier. His body loose, he allowed the font of the train to push him underneath, his fingers ready to stick to the undercarriage. He felt the webbing around his stomach rip, the bones breaking, the blood flowing, but he clung on with all he had. Wet in his ears, he heard Beck ordering after the train. No chances like Berlin.

He felt time passing, the train leave the city centre, so far away from Oscorp, but he couldn’t turn around, not with Quentin chasing him. He’d never make it, not like this. But he had to. 

He couldn’t explain it, but the most painful part of his being right now was the pull, the further away he moved from OsCorp. It was as if the building was a magnet, perhaps it was, as this was where it all started for Peter. But as the train continued on, unnoticing it’s stowaway, every fibre of Peter screamed, raw fire spreading through his veins. It was reminding him that Spider-Man, most of who Peter believed he was, was born at OsCorp, and he needed to get back to die there. That is what was needed to make the world right again. To let the world live.

And then- 

He knew that diner. He passed it often, he knew this train line. And knew what was coming up.

He praised New York’s constant failing infrastructure which had already aided him once tonight. Peter dropped, pressing his body to the track, waiting until the train had sped past until he rolled underneath the track in a blur. In his haste to avoid being noticed, he felt the close shave of the last wheel seemingly trim his hair. Once the rattle of the train had settled he listened in, another army of drones buzzing loudly through the ticking in his ears. Behind them, he could hear Quentin. They passed, a surprisingly far distance behind the train, but Peter waited a few moments more before crawling from his temporary reprieve back onto the track. He stared after the train, wanting to just run, to relieve the pressure, but he knew Beck wouldn’t stop and he would find more ways to stall Peter. This had to end, now.

He looked to the building site, thinking it through but his brain was still slow, not quite working. It looked to be a high rise, perhaps apartments, someone’s home some day. If Peter got his job done in time. There were piles of dirt, useless to him. Large planks of timber and steel, stacked against each other, and scaffolding against what had already been accomplished. Weapons, but potentially more effort to manipulate than his strength would allow right now. His gaze followed up the scaffolding, searching the levels. He could try again, to disable the construction, pull it down around him if he could just grab a new drone. If. 

He swallowed, desperate to come up with another plan, one with more light. He was soon to be surrounded by an eternal darkness before this night was through, so he would prefer to savour what illumination was still left, which glinted at him, almost level with his eyes so he knew it wasn’t the stars. A large, several large, metal ropes twisted their way up the crane, coming to a stop at the hook. He stared at his wrists a moment. He may not have webs, but he trusted himself to manipulate these instead, to be able to swing and counter offense from a distance. Tonight, he would make do with a different set of webs. 

He jumped and climbed up the crane, a slight tinkling sounded as the breeze swept through the site. At the top, he straddled his perch as he studied the hook. Grateful that this was a task that would not require him to conjure strength he did not have, he released the hook by simply following the instructions. It only took a small effort to further pull apart the steel wires so they hung freely. With a small yank, they dangled lower to the ground to allow Peter to swing if he needed it. Pulling one up as if a whip, he readied his stance atop the crane.

Knowing that he would be heard without raising his voice, Peter said “Marco.”

The wet still in his ears, he heard Beck chuckle, though already so far away. “Ready or not, here I come.”

The drones came first, but Peter was ready. In one quick flick, he knocked out almost half of the attack. Holding on tight as the rope returned, he jumped off the top of the crane, allowing several to follow him. As he swung around he reached for another rope of steel but did not release his current rope. He flicked again, this time so hard it sliced clean though three more. 

The swing took him close to the train track again, and he allowed himself to stick to the underside like he had just minutes previously. The solid wood allowed him shelter from the bullets until the drones appeared underneath. As if he was playing with a kitten, he simply flicked them down until their assault slowed and he heard Beck near.

“Hiding again?”

Peter stayed silent, though he was breathing heavily. Before he had even drawn his next breath, Quentin’s face was barely inches from his own. Beck grinned, but it was his theatrics that would be his downfall. Using the momentary distraction, Peter flicked towards Beck’s feet where he knew the drone were allowing him to fly, though in his force he heard the clean snap of a bone close by.

He squashed the guilt he felt as an automatic response, allowing it to be replaced by a fire that might kindle into anger. Spurred, he grappled Quentin by his waist with only his left hand, his right still gripping the steel wire. He unstuck, allowing them to fall and jolt with the motion. The wire swung away from the train track and then towards it again, Peter allowing them to drop on top of the track, not gently. Peter brought his elbow down to slam on the final drone on Quentin's foot. 

He stared down at his attacker, wiping blood from his mouth, but his pause was enough for Beck to tackle him down.

Perhaps he could be angry at Saturn, he thought in a brief moment of reprieve as his head bounced off the metal railing. They named a day of the week after it, and this was the day he was going to die, perhaps now on a failing railway track, barely a glorious death. As the world spun back into focus, Peter instead used the anger to fuel him, forward, crashing into Beck’s ribs. Straddling the man, Peter hated the force in which he pummeled into Quentin, as but blood dripped down off his own face he knew he had no choice. This needed to end, in order for Peter to continue. Or perhaps begin. He was no closer to OsCorp than he was at the beginning of his night.

The ground shuddered throughout all of New York, a brief and blinding light highlighting Peter’s actions, his raised fist. 

He was better than this. He had to be.

He lowered it, earning a chuckle from the barely moving figure.

“Still... So… Weak...”

Peter ignored him. He pushed him down roughly, just enough to steal enough energy while he jumped to to crane, and swung back with the metal wires.

He begun wrapping up Beck’s arms, not caring how he did so as long as it worked.

“That’s… What.. They see.. What… They’ll.. Remember.”

“Like you said, I won’t be around to see it,” he replied simply as he worked down Beck's legs and waist.

The bundle grinned again, all blood and malice.

"I'll leave you for the people of New York,” Peter spat. Finalised, he gave Beck a push off the track. He ignored the sound of agony as the man was caught by the wires, suspended. He turned, done with the man, and looked towards his fate.


	4. How rare, and beautiful, it is to exist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cassini - The Grand Finale, by Sleeping At Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4TQ-oXjT7Zc)

The effort of simply existing was almost too much for Peter. Although it seemed as though his energy until now had been as infinite as the universe, always with a last reserve, he knew he himself was bound by humanity, and that humanity had limits.

The ground shuddered again, loosening his balance, but not due to Norman Osborn, no this was a more mundane effect. A train, the second of the night that endangered him, but this time he was ready. He moved to the side, his feet planting him firmly as the train passed him, inbound towards his own destination. Peter stuck his fingers to the door and allowed himself to be pulled along, wind whistling, almost fast enough to push the blood out his ears. Not caring of the sight he was, he crawled forward to pry open the doors.

The occupants of the train stared at Peter with identical expressions of shock as he collapsed into the train, though this time consciousness stayed with him.

Footsteps, far too loud, vibrated the metal floor causing Peter’s head to rattle against it, approached him in a hurry.

“Hey man, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

A low voice, calm, a man, Peter identified as his head lolled towards the source.

His ears picked up another muffled sound as his eyes focused on the figure hovering above him. 

Cackling, an intercom. The train driver perhaps, though it was not the next stop.

“Attention passengers, uh, is everyone alright back there? I have a notification that the train doors have been opened though it must be a malfunction.”

“OsCorp,” Peter managed to rasp out. The man shushed him gently, but Peter grabbed at his shirt, staring at the bloodied hand before into the man’s eyes. “OsCorp.”

He held his gaze, through struggling to keep his eyes open. “Please.”

“Yeah, alright. OsCorp, OsCop, the kid's saying,” the man urged the citizen by the intercom.

“Erm, hello? Yes we’re alright. It’s just, um, Spider-Man. I think he’s after a ride to OsCorp.”

The train driver chuckled, fortunately for Peter it was one he had encountered before, if Peter had remembered he said he liked his sass and the free donut. “You sure about that? He can’t just swing his way there? Got nothing better to do on a Saturday night than hitch a free ride? OsCorp ain't even on my line.”

“He’s hurt. Real bad.”

There was a pause on the line. “You sure?” The silence spoke for itself. “Let me see what I can do.” Peter lay shuddering on the ground, fighting to keep his eyes opened as he waited.

“They’re diverting all trains in New York. I think something big's gone down. Hold tight.”

“Alright man, you got your one way ticket. Let’s get you up.”

The man slid his arms under Peter’s back and legs as a row of passengers cleared a seat. Placed flat, Peter’s head rolled to the man, who ignored him as he looked him over, fingers flying fast across his body.

“My name’s Adam. I’m a marine, I got you,” he spoke quietly as he noticed Peter’s eyes tracking him.

“Gotta get to OsCorp,” he managed again.

“I hear ya, I hear ya, but right now, you can’t even go anywhere. So you just sit tight, we’ll get you help.”

Peter’s hand flew out to hold the wrist that was gently but expertly searching down what remained of his suit. “I have to,” he whispered, willing his eyes to convey the message he wouldn’t get out with words.

_Soldier to soldier._

Adam nodded. “Let me help you first.”

Peter dropped his wrist, barely noticing the tourniquet fashioned from his own belt that Adam placed around the clawed mess that was his stomach. Water splashed on his face, wiping some of the blood, though some spilled into his eyes. Adam used his sleeve to gently wipe at it, before cradling Peter’s head up to swallow some of the offering.

“You got a name, Spider-Man?”

Peter eyed him. It was too late, the world knew, and he knew what Adam was trying to do, to offer normality in his last moments, to connect, so he didn’t hesitate.

“Peter,” the water lubricated his throat, enough for one word. As if Adam knew, he offered again, Peter grateful.

“Well you know something, Peter. I’m on my way right now to see my wife, her mom’s just taken her to the hospital. She’s in labour you see. I’m gonna be a dad.”

The words were meant to be a distraction as Adam ripped his own shirt to attempt to bandage the multitude of other wounds, but Peter couldn't help but smile at the man’s dampened excitement. This was it. This was why. That one word, _dad_ , was the affirmation that Peter’s end could be the beginning for so many others. This was the courage to continue he had not fully grasped before. He held onto the feeling, tucked it tight into his chest, he knew he would need it. Adam’s eyes traveled his face, his excitement breaking into a soft smile.

“You know what else? A month ago, I might not have been. She was in an accident, a truck ran straight through the spot she was standing only seconds before some guy in tights decided to do something about it.”

Peter mirrored his smile, though not quite, he was sure he looked quite a sight with his mangled bloody face. He remembered though, he made himself remember the good ones, to call on them when he had bad days. But he hadn’t even noticed the bump, just the incoming danger, before he swung away as quickly as he came, leaving the young woman breathless on the street corner.

“I thought so, Peter. I’m gonna be a dad,” he insisted again. “Because of you. I dunno, I just thought you should know that.”

Peter nodded, short and small, coughing before accepting another drink.

“We hadn’t decided on names, actually,” he leant back slightly, his eyes twinkling almost like the stars outside.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Don’t you dare,” he growled, the motion spluttering blood from his lips.

Adam laughed. “You’ll have to stop me. But I’m sure my wife will have no qualms about it. In fact, I know she’s going to love her little boy Peter.”

Peter shook his head, as Adam continued chuckling. He was grateful for the man’s calm, the normality, as if there wasn't his own personal war raging around him. It soothed him enough to offer up the only thing he had left. He sighed, a soft noise laced with resignation. “Call him Ben.”

Adam hesitated, as Peter’s tone sunk in. He patted the top of his forearm, gently, a warm squeeze as his own eyes went sad. “Good man?”

“The best I ever knew,” Peter said, his eyes sliding shut again.

“Alright, Ben it is. You should swing by and see him after you’re done here. He’s going to be a looker. My wife is beautiful, you see.”

Peter didn’t doubt it, but his own memories of childhood and the word beautiful his mind automatically went to Saturn. He kept his eyes closed as he left Adam’s voice wash over him, shivering. He wished the stars would warm him, he knew they were still burning above him, even if he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes to confirm.Lying on the train seats, one arm slung across his leaking torso, Peter pushed all thoughts of space’s second betrayal from his head until a small voice broke his reveles.

“Mr Spider-Man?” It was not Adam, this was timid, young. His eyes fluttered open to reveal a child, no more than four, the age Peter had first learnt about planets. The boy clung to his mother’s legs as he hid behind them, only his face poking around. “The train has stopped.”

Peter sat up as straight as he could, accepting Adam’s help to lean forward to offer what he hoped was a smile.

“Thanks buddy,” he returned the conversation quietly, his arm outstretched in a fist.

The child grinned, and confidently held out his own fist to bump it against Peter’s. In a display of faux play, he shook his hand and grimaced.

“Wow, you’re really strong. You make sure you help your mum with her groceries, alright?” He said, using his voice to disguise the effort of rising, this time ignoring the marine. He ruffled the kids hair as he trudged passed, not realising he would leave a slick imprint of blood as he did so.

The boy looked on in awe as the doors of the train slid open, the only movement from inside the cabin was the turning of heads as a team of darkly clad figures rushed in, guns high.

"Maria,” Peter exhaled as he stumbled forward.

Her arms open, she caught him akin to a hug, before quickly transferring him to face forward one arm around her shoulders, the other around his waist. She took his weight, Peter with a grateful sigh. He allowed one moment to rest his head down in the crook of her neck, before turning it to nod towards Adam.

“Can you walk? We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“No, I’ve got to get to the top. I have to stop Norman,” he said through gritted teeth as he urged one foot forward, Maria following suit.

“Captain’s orders Parker. Steve says stand down. He’s on his way, he’s bringing back up.”

“Not my captain.” Peter grumbled.

“And not a discussion. Go against it, and you’re liable to lose access to the Avengers program. That’s from Fury himself. He’s almost here, you can fight him on it when he's done.”

“I could do it with both eyes shut. Then we'd be even,” He snorted, the effort spluttering a painting of blood on the ground below him as the huddled off the platform. “He’s not my captain, Maria.” He focused all his weight in one spot, stopping their walk. Maria turned to him, still bracing. “Tony made me an avenger,” he urged. “And he's. Not. Here.”

She stared at him, but Peter held his ground. 

“There’s no time.”

“I know.” Maria’s eyes were sad, resigned, as she brought a hand up to cup his face.

“You’ve got to find May. They know, my face, my name,” he pleaded. “You’ve got to find her, keep her safe.”

“We’ve already got a team dispatched to your house, another to May’s work, two for transport and a safe house ready.”

“Keep her safe.”

“I promise, Peter.”

The exited the train station, a lockdown extending to the street.

“How are you going to get up there if you have no webs?”

“How did you know I had no webs?”

“Peter, you’re everywhere. This whole thing,” she waved her free hand, “It’s all over the news. The Lizard, the drones, the train. All of it,” she repeated.

He inhaled as he looked up at the helicopters circling. Though their bright lights could reach the ground below, highlighting the features of the New York street, Peter still believed the space beyond was more luminous. 

He couldn’t let that bother him. “Honestly," he said in response to her previous question, "I was going to take the elevator.”

“Closed for maintenance,” a nearby officer said, grimacing.

Peter groaned. His good luck had run out. Parker luck from now on. “Thanks, New York.” 

He stared up at the tall building before him, and for the briefest moment he thought Maria had seen the cracks in his resolve. In an instant, it was over, and when he turned to face her, his face was determined.

“I need your gun.”

She pressed it into his hand with both of her, squeezing as she did so. “Good luck.”

“And Peter?” He turned to her. “That’s my favorite gun. I’m going to need it back. You bring it back to me, you hear?”

One side of his mouth twitched up. Two from two. He gave her a small, mocking salute before hobbling away.

Peter prepped himself for a moment underneath a street light, before jumping up to grab the horizontal section. Regripping his bloody hands once, he swung his body backwards slightly in order to push it forward, and all the way around the bar, hands still attached. He made 3 rotations around the light post, much like a gymnast, before releasing, the momentum and power launching him up towards the building in front of him.

Peter thought of Cassini as he climbed the tower opposite OsCorp. Quietly, he admitted that he cried at Cassini’s grand finale, more saddened by the end of the spacecraft than he seemed to be for his own journey right now. It took 7 years for Cassini to reach Saturn, 45 seconds between it's final correspondence and the impact on the planets surface, but it would only take Peter a third of that to reach the sidewalk of New York that would become his grave, he calculated quickly. Immediately, he regretted it. He didn't need to know. But Cassini reached Saturn with so much more than exploration to it's name. It inspired, it educated, it shared the wonders of Saturn and the space beyond. It was spectacular end for a spectacular vessel, so perhaps there was that.

"C'mon, Peter," he whispered as he slipped down the windows, his fingers and feet slick with his own blood.

He reached the top of the building with barely further pause, but the effort caused him to pant heavily. His lips pressed in pain, Peter pushed his left hand and foot off the building in order to flip himself, back pressed against the windows. Lubricated, he slid slightly again, but he steadied himself by pressing his fingers hard to the glass. Allowing one last breath, Peter used one hand to grip the commandeered gun, his face tight. 

“C’mon Peter,” he whispered again, aiming the gun at the OsCorp building, slightly lowered.

A shot rang out as he put a bullet through a window a few levels lower from where he was.

Movement.

He had expected this.

As the buzzing drew neared to his desired entry, he aimed another bullet into the darkness then threw the gun hard in the opposite reaction. The noise split, away from him. Embracing the distraction without hesitation he pushed off the glass, arms wide to glide through the air. But for the first time, he did not enjoy the flight. Clasping his arms together as he neared, he rocketed through the window like the bullet moments before. He allowed himself to roll on entry, though used to the light force, it was enough to disable him in his current state.

Unrelenting, he had no choice, he pushed himself up and headed for the stairs. He was limping by now, his left leg giving way with each step. He allowed himself a small whimper, not caring if anyone was watching, he thought he deserved it. Just like talking, the release of noise was cathartic. What he really knew to be his ultimate relief was a long hug from Harley, a warm bath, and being tucked into bed by May with the promise to stay close. Instead, he breathed again, this time it caught in an almost sob. There, that was enough.

He continued his uneven gait to reach the alarmed doors that were no match, he ripped them out of his way. Looking up at the flights left between him and his target, not bothering to acknowledge that even a gram of web fluid would have cut this struggle down, he instead anchored himself to the railing with heaving breaths. The ticking in his brain was growing louder, almost unbearable, but in a way useful as he timed his steps to the rhythm. 87 beats later, the noise stopped. So did his feet.

Peter had reached the final door.

He wished he had the element of surprise but that option was forgone hours ago. Instead, he broke through the door, immediately righting himself into a defensive position, his senses prickling but not screaming.

Norman was nowhere to be seen. He waited in his crouched stance, weight lifted off his left leg. Now was not the time to hesitate. Now was no time at all.

Peter limped through the quiet room, his eyes focused on the control panel but his senses trained on everywhere else. From what remained of his belt, he pulled forth the device he had been cradling the whole fight. He prayed Harley was right. He always was. He trusted him. More than himself.

He inserted the device, navigating through the commands, his fingers once again flying over technology that was not his own. He didn't realise he was holding his breath until it shuddered out when the screen flashed with confirmation of his success.

He wondered if anyone was speaking for him like Earl Maize did for Cassini’s Grand Finale. Filled with doubt, he gave himself his own farewell and he struck down the failing time machine for good measure.

“We have just heard that the signal from the spacecraft has gone, and within the next 45 seconds so will be the spacecraft." He heaved, plying a heavy metal beam off the underside of the structure and threw it into the base of the power panels. "I hope you’re all as deeply proud of this amazing accomplishment, congratulations to you all, this has been an incredible mission," sparks flew, "an incredible spacecraft," there was a slight hissing, "and you’re all an incredible team. I’m going to call this end of mission." He stood, staring at his destruction. "Project Manager, off the net.”

He laughed himself off, as the sparks grew, singing his own suit, but he didn't stumble backwards. It was too grandeuse, too incredible, incredulous even, that Peter could compare himself to any of it.

The laugh caught in his throat as Norman Osborn reached from behind and snapped his neck, his eyes fluttering shut for the last time with a scintilla of pride at the knowledge that he had succeeded.

But he was not dead yet. No, his body was disabled, but Peter’s mind was still firing, fireworks behind his eyes.

It was not translating the sounds into words into meaning as Norman said “So tell me bug boy, how well do you fly without your webs and wings?”

It was not understanding that his web shooters were crushed on his wrists, no doubt breaking the bones as well, or that the wings on the side of his suit were sliced clean through. That there was no solid ground under his feet, only air. Space.

It was focusing on the warm hug he was pulled into, Ben and Richard’s arms, tight, but comforting as he began his 13 second free fall. His newest, and last latibule.

It was listening to the bedtime tale, that he had saved millions.

It was the covers pulled tight up to his chin, like when he was a child, the black cover that he would soon join as a star himself, dancing across the skies in death to guide those below. To continue to help people.

And finally, it was the sleepy apology, although he’d already written them out, to Harley, to May, to his friends.

Had thoughts still danced through his head at this point, Peter himself would have noticed the similarities between his and Cassini’s descent. That Norman had thrown him from the building, causing Peter to plunge, like the spaceship, to the planet below as his final mission came to an end. That though they both felt alone, they were watched by the entire world. That somewhere in the distance, repulsors fired.

In the skies of Saturn, the journey of Cassini came to an end before it joined it's final resting place on the surface of the planet. For Peter Parker, his journey came to an end in the skies of Manhattan, moments before he hit the dirty streets of New York.

Peter would never know that much like Cassini, his legacy would live on. And just as Cassini had revolutionized Peter’s own knowledge, love and life of Saturn, Peter had offered the same to the humans Earth. Much like Cassini had become part of the planet itself, so would the memory of Peter Parker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrGAQCq9BMU
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBfFSMAK-V0
> 
> Thank you kindly for sticking around. I hope to see you in future works.


End file.
